


Through The Roads We Walk

by nukawhit



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nukawhit/pseuds/nukawhit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of Project Purity, Doctor Li tries to seek out something better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. collateral, i.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> collateral 1/2. Madison sends out Prime.

_collateral, i._

It invokes a kind of sinking feeling, watching the estimates come back. Numbers cascade in flickers of green - _27%, 48%_ \- alongside their accompanying descriptors - _navigation translation, system power management_ \- and reading the numbers over and over, Madison tries her best to keep focused. Tries her best to dispel the building anxiety the figures bring; tries to forget the eyes on her. They’re scattered all across the lab, with Scribes lingering behind her, and Paladins overlooking from the balconies - all watching, all expectant. Geared and feverish for war, circling her, waiting for her to read off the estimates, read them positive, and tell them that Prime's all ready to go. Tell them what they want to hear.

She doesn’t.

“It’s not ready,” Madison murmurs to the Scribe stood behind, looking to him. She sees a hint of doubt in his eyes, his brow drawn, so she swiftly interrupts; “Rothchild,” she says, “It’s _not_ ready.”

“Li,” Rothchild begins, his tone detached, dismissive almost, “I am well aware that Liberty Prime’s numbers are not quite as ideal as we had envisioned -”

“ _Ideal_?” Madison mocks, “That’s polite. The numbers are certainly _not_ ideal, hell, let alone - _optimal_ ,” she stops, catching herself as she feels her voice rise, her resentment towards him heighten. Even in all his smarts, and their friendship, Rothchild still takes on that Brotherhood bravado that irritates her. Moments pass as she speaks again. Calmer. “Complete system failure is a very real possibility.”

“As is the Brotherhood losing this war,” Rothchild responds, his words measured in a way they weren’t before. “Tristan’s battle projections are far from reassuring. Another Enclave drop off is imminent. We’re unsure as to where they’re coming from - with Raven Rock destroyed - but whatever the cause, Madison, they will outgun us. Or at the very least, outnumber.” Madison remains quiet - and at her silence, Rothchild pleads; “Don’t you _understand_? If we don’t go in now, with Prime - we will stand no chance. None at all.”

His words prove ineffective. Madison’s silence persists, her gloved fingers tapping away at the terminal aside Prime instead of playing to his whims. “This is our only opportunity, Li,” Rothchild tries again, words no doubt parroting Tristan, “It is the Elder’s imperative we take immediate action.”

“Maybe that’s what your war-hungry Paladins would like to think,” Madison finally retorts, words hushed but sharp as she turns to him. “But if I were in your position, Rothchild? I’d be far more concerned that the robot won’t be able to even _walk_ it there, let alone help you.”

She turns from him before he can respond, looks back to the terminal, back to the dismal figures, and she hears Rothchild sigh from behind her. Diplomacy was never his speciality, same as her; but it’s staggering to think he’s willing to look past the estimates they both compiled in favour of appeasing the Elder’s wishes.

“We’ve only got one shot at this,” Li says after a long moment. “I want it to work.”

“As do I, Madison,” he replies, relents. “But if we let this chance slip us by - the probability is that we won’t live to find out if it could.”

His words turn her.

She looks up at Liberty Prime, the hulking monster of a robot, standing tall, imposing - but decayed. It’s not the same shining soldier it was before the bombs fell, a technological marvel of the times - instead, it remains as a rusted out relic of what it once was. The patriotic paint job’s all but gone, chipped away; its gauntlets are rusted, bare gaping holes from centuries of corrosion - and it reeks of burnt out metal from all the power surges during testing. But Rothchild’s words resonate. He’s right - the robot’s the best thing they’ve got - _she’s_ got - to try regain control of the memorial back from the Enclave, to finish Project Purity.  

Heavy steps sound from behind her, pressurised from armour, hitting hard and loud in the silence.

“Evenin’, eggheads,” Comes the voice of the Elder’s daughter, Sarah, jovial in her stride as she crosses the lab over to them. Madison looks to Sarah as she steps up to the platform, leaning back against Prime’s scaffolding, all geared up in a hulking armour of her own. “So,” she begins, casual, looking the robot up and down. “This big tin can all ready to go?”  

“It’s not as good as I’d like,” Madison says.

“Sure, Doctor. I understand.” Sarah replies. “But is it good enough?”

Her question lingers, with Sarah resting her head back against the steel bars, looking all too calm for this. At the quiet, she continues; “We need Prime alongside Pride for this operation, Doc, mostly to get past the force fields, throw a few mini-nukes. Y’know, anything to cut through the Enclave’s defences…”

Madison’s thoughts drift to the Purifier, and Sarah’s words fade. All she can think of is the complex - impenetrable, surrounded by forcefields born from technology she can only _imagine_ \- and her work in the hands of those whose capabilities are far beyond her reach. Her life’s work just sitting there, cornered up by the _Enclave_ , being twisted and contorted and _controlled_ \-  

“Well? Doctor?” Sarah asks, voice cutting harsh into Li’s thinking. Madison darts her eyes up to see Sarah’s, sees them focused on her; expectant for an answer. Sarah measures her for a brief second before she continues, “So, Doctor Li? Can I hit the button to okay this thing or not?”

But she's losing time fast, no matter what state Prime’s in.

“ _Fine_ ,” Madison coincides, her voice far from confident. “Send the damn thing off. I’ve done as much as I can.”

“All _right_ ,” Sarah says, mouth pulled into a smug smile. She pushes herself off the scaffold, turns a dial to amp up her power armor’s fusion core. “Now - time to get this sonuvabitch outta here,” she says, punches Prime’s surge button and readies her rifle, motions for her squad to move in.

Bodies file into the space before Liberty Prime, below the platform; some come from the balconies, others from A-Ring. They’re geared up in the typical Brotherhood power armor, same as Sarah - metal plated, fusion powered, relics of the old world. Still holding up well, on all accounts. No surprise with all the odds and ends the Brotherhood’s hoarded over the years. But they bare a new-world symbol - of _Lyon’s Pride_ , the Brotherhood’s best and brightest when it comes to warfare. Lead by Lyon’s daughter herself, a talented fighter, as her father tells her. Pride assemble below Prime’s platform, silent, waiting on Sarah’s word.

Instead, they hear Prime’s.

“ _Liberty Prime is online_ ,” the machine bellows, aside a sharp _hiss_ as its heat sinks release pressure, “ _All systems nominal,”_ it continues, _“weapons -_ **_hot_ ** _!_ ”

“Yeah yeah, we hear ya,” Sarah says, shouting over the robot reads off more estimates as she to the centre of the platform. “This is _my_ talk, big guy.”

Madison stands by with Rothchild as Sarah stands at the platform’s centre, looking over her squad.

“So, Pride,” Sarah begins, just as Prime finishes affirming navigation translation. Blaring alarms take their place, loud, deafening, but Sarah shouts over them, saying, “You guys _ready_ for this?” Li hears the crowd respond, and it’s too much, severe on Li’s senses - the alarms too loud, red lights circling the scaffolds too bright, everything too harsh and only heightening her anxiety. Voices - cheers, chants - mix somewhere into all the noise. Her heart thrums heavy in her chest.

“What was that? I can’t _hear_ you, Pride!” Sarah yells, taunting them almost, saying, “Again - Pride! Are you _ready_ for this?”

Her words trigger an another eruption of sound from the bodies below - a dozen voices coarse as they contend with Prime beginning to be lifted from its holding by, the rumbling scrape of metal on metal; voices strained as they rival the alarms blaring to signal the move. Sarah smiles, elated at their enthusiasm, and for a girl so young, she sure knows how to whip up a crowd. How to get them manic, frenzied. Madison feels her anxiety spike, jolting under her skin with sharp little shocks, all urging her to call the whole thing off, sending thoughts through the her head, telling her to stop it all. Because it’s _not_ ready - it won’t work, andi t’ll all just - _fail._

Prime’s in bad enough shape as it is, and now it’s being sent for the battlefield, but it’s what below the platform that turns her more. Lyon’s Pride. The frontline of the assault - the people she’s supposed to trust with the safety of the purifier, trust with all the years of work she’s poured into this project - and they’re… giddy. _Excited_ for this. She stares at them with both bewilderment and dread, watching their bodies swarm, clapping, cheering each other on with a kind of frenzy she’s only seen in raider groups, in animals - when Madison stills, seeing a familiar face amongst them.

James’ daughter.

She’s stood in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by them; clad in their armour, readying one of their guns. Touting their cause, ready for the battlefield.

It’s not right. She’s too young. Much too young to be caught up in all this - in a conflict decades old, in a feud that stretches back much, much farther. The girl’s eyes - one brown, the other a milky, clouded grey, watch Sarah with eager interest. Seeing her move, watching her _lead_. Maybe it’s something she aspires to. Madison hopes it’s not.

“All right, Pride! Waiting time’s over!” Sarah calls, swifty checking her rifle, then looking down to James’ daughter. “101. You’re on me. Everyone else - stay in formation. Got that? Let’s _do_ this!”

Sarah’s words provokes another bout of jubilant cheers and excitement, this time into nearly everyone inside the lab - except for Li, where it does the opposite. Cheers are replaced with a tight clench of her jaw, excitement by pure shock. The girl doesn’t belong there with them. She’s not a soldier - she’s barely even an adult. Prime finally rises from it’s caging entirely, leaves the parameter to to the courtyard - and Sarah’s soldiers follow suit through the front doors, with James’ girl at her side. Something - _anger_ \- stirs deep in her, Li finding herself overcome with a sudden urge to hold the girl back, keep her from all this. Instead, Madison watches helpless, uneasy at how the girl’s been paraded out like any other war-hardened soldier, like someone who’s so willing to throw their life away on a pipedream.

But then - it’s all too familiar. Maybe foolishness is hereditary.

The alarms soon ease after Pride vacates, Scribes fileing out the lab back to their assigned stations, and Paladins to the battlefield. The lab hangs in a heavy silence.

“I can understand your unease,” Rothchild begins after a few long moments, “But now, perhaps you should try settle down - ”

“You got what you wanted,” Madison snaps back, words harsh and razor quick, turning to him. “But I’m not about to sit back and twiddle my thumbs ‘till morning. I’ll find a terminal in the back of the lab - ”

Madison’s halted when Rothchild swiftly grabs her arm, his grip sharp and tight - enough to stop her.

“I recommend that you rest, Madison. Sleep.” Rothchild says, his words a cutting contrast to the grip he has on her. “With Prime, you’ll be debriefed long before dawn.”

“No,” Madison replies, brow drawn, forcefully shrugging him off. “I have to monitoring the mainframe through all this, Rothchild, keeping an eye on the structural integrity of the Purifier - ”

“Your colleague, Dargon, is in A-Ring,” Rothchild continues as though she’s not spoken, “It’s best you rest there - ”

“ _Rothchild_ .” Madison interjects, tone firm. “I _helped_ you. I got that massive tin can to work when no one else could - even before bombs fell. And now you’re telling me I can’t set up an uplink to my _own_ project - ?”

“The Elder and our council concluded such an attempt ran too many risks, Li,” Rothchild says. “An uplink between here and the memorial complex - now overrun by the Enclave - is essentially an open door for them to infiltrate our systems, compromise the archives - we’re reverse engineering their technology, Madison. The risk is too great.”

His words render her speechless. Madison scoffs, shaking her head, trying to find piece her words together. “Well - if you’d told me earlier…” she trails off, and lingers, the implication setting in. “They don’t care, do they? About the water. You all just needed someone to fix up your big goddamn robot - and _God_ , wasn’t my misfortune convenient, with me begging at your door - ”

“Madison, you know full well that you and the girl’s safety have always been a priority of the Brotherhood since you entered the grounds - ”

“ _Bullshit_ . You wouldn’t be sending _her_ out there or refusing to keep _me_ in here if that were true,” Li interjects, her frustration obvious now, evident in her words. “Where has you mind gone, Reginald? I never thought I’d see you corner me like this.”

“I’m acting well within my own accord. I’m not a lackey for anyone here,” Rothchild retorts, her words hitting a nerve. “It’s been years since you’ve touched that mainframe, Li. I can’t help but think your attempts to regain access would jeopardise the mission.”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Madison says. “I wrote that mainframe from scratch. Do you remember? Telling me I couldn’t do it?” Her words are cutting, recalling her time back in the memorial with Rothchild. Back when he called her ‘native,’ and local’, and they were hardly on the best of terms. “I think I would how to get in there without suspicion. And you know it too. Maybe not back then. But certainly now.”

Rothchild’s sight darts from her, scolding himself inwardly. “I respect you immensely, Madison, and appreciate all that you’ve done,” he says, looking back to her. “But please - _don’t_ counter this,” he stammers, feeling torn. “I assure you it will all be alright.”

“Assure me all you want,” she says, “Won’t change a damn thing. I need to monitor the systems. It’s that simple.”

Rothchild inhales sharply, saying, “I will not stress this again. These are the Brotherhood’s grounds - so you _follow_ the Brotherhood’s rules. It’s not just you. We all have to do it,” he says, tone taking on a forcefulness Madison’s not seen from him before. He looks away, and his features soften, like he’s dropping off the hard-talking facade Lyons and Tristan want him to wear. “You have my word,” he relents, words softer now. “The purifier will survive in one piece. It’s in everyone’s best interests you cooperate.”

It’s not what she wants to hear, not what she wants to accept - but they’re words she can believe. She’s not essential to the mission anymore, with Prime functional. Her role in the operation is done. She’s expendable now, disposable. Inconsequential.

“Now please, come,” Rothchild continues - and tightening her jaw, Madison reluctantly follows.

It’s a short distance to A-Ring from the Laboratory, the corridors surprisingly bare. Rothchild leads her to one of the residential rooms, one of a half dozen lining the hall. He pulls a key from his garb, popping the lock, opening the door.

The room’s small, boxy and stripped of anything but the bare essentials. There’s barely anything inside: only a bed, a desk, some tattered books. There’s not even a terminal - because of course there isn’t. It was likely some kind of office before the war, judging by the size. Now it feels like a prison. Where they lock away things that are no longer important; things that have served their purpose. She stands at the door.

“Go on,” Rothchild says, motioning towards the bed. “It’s for the best.”

Almost mechanically, suppressing every urge in her body to do the opposite, she follows his orders. Steps towards the bed, sits herself down - she even offers Rothchild a terse smile to soothe his conscience.

But she can’t look at him - her sight darts away, instead following the the lines of cracked plaster in the walls. She waits, feeling her body tense; shoulders tight, fists balled. Just waits.

“Rest, Madison,” is the last thing he says to her, offering an equally terse smile that she doesn’t see, leaving her.

And so he goes. She hears the door shut behind him.

 


	2. collateral, ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> collateral 2/2. Madison tries to save Project Purity.

_collateral, ii_.  
  
Time passes. Lurches, in its tortuous way. She can’t sleep. Not that she wants to. Not now.

Her mind is much too alive, thoughts working fast through the possible outcomes of the war, safety of the purifier - and the intermittent shocks reverberating throughout A-Ring do little to settle her nerves. Detonations - nuclear, artillery? - strike hard and rumble low and long, like thunder; muffled, but close enough to jolt her, enough to create tiny hairline fractures in the walls, spit pieces of rock and curled plaster onto her bed. Thoughts scatter on impact: thinking of the purifier, of everything her and the others worked for, lost their lives for - reduced to nothing, nothing but ashes. Mixes with the discomfort she has with every possible outcome of the assault: the Brotherhood losing, the memorial destroyed; the Enclave winning, the memorial destroyed, the Enclave winning, the memorial in their hands, in the _Brotherhood’s_ hands -- it’s enough to send her mind into a state of frenzy if she cared about the politics that much. Instead, all that hangs over her is a crippling sense of dread, weighty as she sits powerless. All it would take would is a misfire at a key pipeline in the complex, a few wrong button presses at the control terminal - and Project Purity would be a catastrophic failure. A tragedy. Again.

All the while she’s been told to ease off, sit at the sidelines - and hope probability is on her side while those endless possibilities play. Possibilities that shouldn't _be_ as uncertain as they are - because she should be out there, wired up to the memorial, monitoring the purifier. Doing whatever she can to secure the project, all that’s left.

It weighs on her, heavy; the dread, the fear. Simmers as she thinks - boils over sudden as she thinks of the Rothchild’s lunacy to keep her in here - and her own to accept his words. Chest tightens as she’s hit with a sudden flash of anger - a feeling deep and burning in her chest, corrosive like acid on metal.

Li finds that she’s balled her fists fight into the holey, off white sheets - so she quickly releases her hold, pushes herself up from the bed; takes a moment to compose herself. Smooths out her lab coat, tucks away a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The anger’s there, still, heart thumping hard and heavy as she breathes long and slow, moving to the door. Scolds herself, scolds Rothchild and all the Brotherhood. Wraps her hand around the handle, twists and -

Locked.

She tries again, vigorous this time - nothing.

Her brows arch, throat tightens. They really don’t want her involved in this. Just wanted her for the big goddamn robot, nothing more. She releases her hand, weighs up her options, thinks about how best to proceed. To either stay here, follow orders; or go back to the lab, and do what she needs to.

It’s hardly a tough decision.

Touching the back of her head, feeling through the strands of her greying hair, Li pulls a bobby pin out from under her bun. It’s not enough to loosen her hair, but it’ll be sure enough to pop open the door. Just needs some elbow grease. She crouches down to the lock, holds one end of the pin between her teeth and the other between her fingers, bends the clip so it’s viable to pick the lock with.

It doesn’t take her long to find the weak spots, edging the pin side to side, probing deeper - takes her a lot less time than she thought it would, actually, considering they’d gone to the effort of locking her in here in the first place.

“Not like you tried _hard_ , Rothchild,” Madison murmurs, rising, with one last turn of the pin causing the lock to open with a satisfying _click_.

The lock yields as Li tries the handle again, this time pushing the door ajar just enough to get a look up the corridor. Looks empty, but she’s still cautious: takes time to open the door fully, step out of her room - her cell, the Brotherhood’s last-ditch efforts to alienate her from her own work.

It’d be so easy to just storm up to the Elder’s quarters - erupt in rage, rant at his decision to alienate her, at the sheer _idiocy_ of it; but it’s obvious now that her words mean nothing to him, to any of the Brotherhood. It’s her actions they listen to - getting Prime back online, being passive and letting them confine her - all those moves telling them she’s vulnerable, docile. But that’s not her. She can’t be passive, not now - not when they’re shutting her out of Project Purity at its most critical time.

It’s a step too far. A step much, much too far, whatever the strategic advantage. So she’s going to make them listen.

She moves up the first part of the approach to the lab from A-Ring, steps deliberate. Slow for now, careful - because slow, slow gets her there without disruption. Gives her the advantage when she hears a cluster of steps, hears voices - she retreats around the corner, stays behind the chipped concrete. Madison peers her sight over the corner for a moment, only catching a glimpse of them.

About half a dozen, all donned in red, carrying stacks of holotapes and tattered books. Scribes from B-Ring, probably, passing through on their way back to archives. They’re talking still, chatty, laughing - while their fellow soldiers are out there dying for them.

“No, no,” one chuckles, “Tristan said he’s gonna get me _four_ of those Enclave assholes! One for every fuckin’ season.”

Feels a churn of disgust. Can’t comprehend their bloodlust. And all the waiting is getting her antsy. Agitated. She’s already trying to make up for lost time; she wants to get to the laboratory quicker, needs to see to see what state her Project - Catherine’s Project, James’ Project - is currently in. She waits, and and their voices fade a few moments later, and a quick look up the hall affirms they’re finally gone.

Lab seems bare when she arrives. Terminals are scarce around the ground floor, some wired up to the walls, others on desks near stacks piled with clipboards and lab equipment. Too risky being on the lower levels, even with no one else here; needs to be up higher, tucked out of view. Li makes fast work of the metal stairs leading to the upper level, scans the floors again as she does. Treads the dusty, grimy concrete leading to the Brotherhood’s onsite repair station at the end of the crossing. Smithy seems like it’ll be a good enough spot to get to work, she thinks. Cornered off. Concealed.

Li lingers for a few moments before entering, listening out; all she hears from the lower level is the low, buzz-like hum of idle data towers -- cut in with sporadic rumbles coming from decades old machinery. Can’t waste more time worrying someone’ll find her, even with all their talk. The Purifier’s more important.

Inside, the Smithy’s empty of bodies, just like the rest of the lab. Steps to the back of the workshop, checks over in the armory -- and they’ve even dragged Knight Durga out from her wire cage out into the field too, leaving the armory unoccupied. Not that she needs weapons; it’s what’s in the workshop that’s of interest to her.

She steps back, and the first thing that catches her attention is the terminal laid out on the counter. Tries booting it out of habit - but the screen doesn’t change, instead remains a dead, opaque black. No power. Madison moves round the counter, pops off the terminal’s outer hull on its left side. Fusion cell’s gone - so instead, she reaches down and pulls a heavy cord from one of the Smithy’s generators, plugging it into the back of the terminal. The machine whirrs alive from the input of power, thankfully. Now it’s just getting back into the memorial’s systems.

The terminal boots, display loading in slower than she’d like - but the screen flickers, wakes, output nominal.

‘Welcome to the Citadel System Link,’ reads on the screen, along with lines and lines of garbled text - corrupt codex entries, she sees as she skims them, soon backing out of the entry. Another artillery hit strikes hard as she goes to input a command - one that’s powerful; close enough it jolts her, forceful enough that it shakes everything, knocks over a few stray books. Madison’s breath wavers for a few moments, hesitating as it echoes out - but she’s quick to regain herself, inputting a command into the terminal:

user.setadmin <RobCoID 2389-H>. 

The terminal responds, readying up the display, line by line.

RobcOS v.85  
(C)2076 RobCo  
|  >> Administrator (RobCoID 2398-H)  
|  >> New_Admin: Li, Madison... Ready.  
|  Welcome new user, Li, Madison  
|  What would you like to do today? 

The memorial complex and the Citadel had been linked together once before, nearly twenty years ago, back in the Project’s infancy. Now it’s just the problem of resurrecting the line; finding the old networks, old frequencies. Making contact.

Madison uses the Citadel’s relays next, imputing a command to try get a handle on the Mainframe’s broadcast frequencies; get an idea of what other channels are in use out in the field alongside it. Long moment passes, and the screen reads:

| >> Chnls_Available_<15mil:  
| >>> LYONS-PRIDE.beta_ver.001  
| >>> GALAXY_NEWS_RADIO  
| >>> ![ENCLA#%!^null]  
| >>> <ISOLATED-CHANNEL>

Last one sticks out like anything. Looks like the Enclave haven’t just cornered off the memorial externally, they’ve cornered up the mainframe too, and broadcasting out it someplace else. Disconcerting, considering Raven Rock is apparently spewed out twisted metal over the north most corner of the wastes, but - their soldiers have got to be pouring in from somewhere.

She ponders, sizing up the channel.

Not a complete lost cause. Considering it was her that created the security barriers blocking the mainframe from external sources all those years ago, out of spite. Anyone else would’ve been incapable of doing it, not having knowledge of the systems like she has. Makes sense that the Enclave unearthed and installed them - it cuts off access from anyone external to the systems, anyone that's unsure as to how they operate.

She sees how it might be an intimidating tactic to the Brotherhood - they’ve never worked with the Mainframe’s systems like she has, never tried getting into them. Never built them from the ground up, like she did. Never knew where the exploits were.

They’re deep, way back in the system’s architecture, but she knows they’re there. Nearly cleared them out twenty years ago while ironing out the system’s last kinks, but with the volatility of the project by then - with the Brotherhood’s increasing malcontent with the results produced, the frequency of the mutant attacks - something kept her from purging them. Like a failsafe, personal to her, in case her and the others had to leave the memorial for a time, back then. Never knew it that time would have been as long as it was; never knew she’d be leaving there alone, two times over.

The interface lingers open. She inputs:

| NET USE X: \\\<ISOLATED-CHANNEL>\\\PP_MAINFAME...  
| NETWORK ERROR 82  
| ACCESS DENIED. PRESENT NETWORK ID TO CONTINUE.

Thinks, thinks way back, back with Catherine and James and setting up the mainframe’s system overrides. Tries it again.  
  
| NET USE X: \\\<ISOLATED-CHANNEL>\\\PP_MAINFRAME...   
| USER: lim PASS: NUkK^A829  
| OVERRIDE AUTH: cath216alpha

| Access granted. Authorization override “CATH216ALPHA” for “PP_MAINFRAME” active.  
| Please use this override with caution.

Thoughts scatter as Li thinks of where to start with the mainframe. Best check access entries, see who’s been in the systems, how deep they’ve gotten - whether her security protocols have held up from unwanted visitors. Another layer of security she created, though this time back when the project failed in ‘57 - in part to preserve the systems in the event she was ever to return to the project, but mostly to axe out any Brotherhood lackeys trying to gain control once her and the other scientists were flushed out by mutants. Didn’t manage to completely remove them when the team got back. Ran out of time.

Li navigates, and a long list of access entries from the terminal read out,  but she focuses on the most recent ones:

| 5.12.2277,1801hr:  
| Logon Attempt: FAILURE  
| 5.12.2277,1802hr:  
| Logon Attempt: FAILURE  
| 5.12.2277,1802hr:  
| Logon Attempt: FAILURE/LOCKOUT 18hr  
| 5.13.2277,0425hr:  
| Logon Attempt: SUCCESS OVERRIDE INITIALISED

She can breathe, just slightly - her security protocols have held up from Autumn’s forces. It’s possible they’ve maneuvered some other way through the systems, but they can’t be that far - yet. She inputs more commands, orders an evaluation of the Memorial’s systems, checking its vitals…  
  
The results aren’t nearly as assuring.

Purifier’s worse than she anything could have imagined.

The readings tell her everything that _could_ be damaged, is - Memorial’s structural integrity is on the decline, pressure regulators are fried, holding tanks damaged - and she stops, thinks, because all these readings are incomprehensible. Impossible to have all happened in such a short span of time since the Enclave gained control. Then she considers who’s in control of the complex, who murdered her assistant and made her watch - and knows they’re capable of anything. Even bringing down the complex so no one else has it. Sabotage.

The notion stirs her. That these people would be willing to compromise the complex, trigger its destruction - purely for military gain. Disregarding the science, all its potential --

She stabs the terminal’s keys with a feverish urgency when another alert cuts through -- ***CRITICAL DAMAGE SUSTAINED*** and Madison forces herself to stop. Thinks. Realizes.

There’s nothing she can do.

Not from this side of the network, anyway - there's a difference in between receiving information through a feed exploit and relaying it back through in a way the mainframe responds to. And it’s an issue with infrastructure, not just the systems. Which alarms her more than anything. Because that’s not something she can just fix with command lines and code, even with monitoring the systems remotely.  It’s out of her reach.

All she can hope is to get in contact with someone directly, from the inside. And hope that they’ll answer her. That they’ll know what to do. Hell, that there’s even someone left alive to hear it. She hates hoping.

Li takes a breath - though it’s no more than a shallow, pathetic intake of air, and she looks around the Smithy for something to use. Buried inside a box filled with a miscellaneous armor parts, weapon mods, a broken up HAM Radio juts out from the clutter. She steps over to it fast, moving the parts to nearby her terminal. After a few minutes - that feel so much longer than they really are - Madison wires the radio and mic back together, joins it with the terminal.  

Her terminal’s revving and whirring now, struggling; emphasised by the strong, thick smell of burnt out hardware radiating from the machine, of overworked dirty tech. Won’t last much longer at this rate, not with the number of readings streaming through - strained further by making the terminal search for further frequencies inside the facility.

Needs to move fast. Think faster. She’s running out of time.

Her fingers set on the dial, sits in her chair, ready to engage - but a twist of deliberation gives her pause. The Brotherhood told her not to intervene. Said they’d handle the ground operation, but  then -- they’re not doing it well. Nuking things only solves so many problems. Isolating scientists from their projects solves none. And it’s obvious they can’t comprehend that.

Li twists the dial.  
  
Static roars, as expected - she moves back the terminal to hone in on the memorial’s systems, get the radio to pick up the intercom frequencies. Takes a few moments, but it works.

Still static, though. Blaring, hissing static. Doesn’t let it shake her.  
  
She traverses the frequencies, deliberate as she moves the dial, hearing white noise intermittent with silence - when a quick flicker of life blares over the waves. She tunes the signal, hears a few garbled seconds of noise - voices shouting, their words impossible to make clear over the rapid sounds of gunfire, harsh hits of impact against metal - before the signal cuts. The frequency dies, and a message comes in that an intercom on level two has been compromised.

Terminal tells that the intercom she was receiving the signal from blew up from damage, and that whoever was on the other side - they’re getting close to the purifier. And taking the complex down with them.

Madison shifts uncomfortably in her seat. It’s like having intruders inside your home. They’re inside the _complex_ , surrounded by years and years of tireless research, endless concepts - but she knows the Enclave doesn’t see it that way, and the Brotherhood doesn’t either. Because to them - it’s Enclave and Brotherhood, destroying the memorial, trying to secure a contested asset from the other side, a dry run for further conflict. She thinks of the damage they’re causing; bullets, laser, plasma going all directions inside. Incinerating research, damaging systems. She looks back to the terminal, and a pit of anxiety burns in her chest. A fresh batch of readings pour in. The memorial’s systems are sustaining even _more_ damage -- and with the Enclave and Brotherhood fighting in there, it’s only going to get worse.  
  
Moments pass, endless, and Madison fails to find anything other than dead ends over the radio. Dead frequencies, void channels. Still, she perseveres, turning, inputting, tuning until -- the static clears for a few brief moments, met again with gunfire feeding through. Wasn’t going to let it escape her, so she isolates it further, turning more and more, until she finds it. Hears a distinct, distinguished sound as the gunfire eases. The dull hum of decrepit machinery. The slosh of water circulating.  
  
Only comes from one place.

The ambiance inside the Rotunda. The Purifier. Recalls it back from the first iteration of the project, back when she would comm Catherine there from the Mainframe, strong and sharp in her memory. She’s found it. Finally. And someone’s in there.

Madison’s eyes dart back the readings being transmitted, this time without as much data loss as before:

| INTERNAL HEAT///ELEVATED  
| HOLDING TANK #1 DAMA)ED___  
| HO%&!ING TANK #2 DAMAGED  
| HOLD__NG TANK #3 NOMINAL   
| HOLDING TA%& #4 DAMAGED  
| STRUCTURAL INTEGR&&ITY STATUS: CRITICAL  
|  
| ***MAINTENANCE REQUIRED IMMEDIATELY - EXTREME PRESSURE***

Bites back as anxiety flashes in her, tightening her chest - instead, she listens in. Tries to get an idea of who’s on the other end. The radio channel’s live.

No one comes to transmit.

No one is broadcasting from the complex. No one’s talking over the intercoms, giving orders, even from the goddamn control room. Her eyes close and her brow furrows briefly, fingers rubbing her forehead. She thinks of what to do next. Her jaw tenses, and she opens her eyes, moves her hands.

Leans, flicks the switch, and talks into the mic.

“Hello?” She asks across the radio, her voice shakier than anticipated. She tries to give time for a reply, but after few seconds pause she betrays herself, trying again: “ _Hello_ ? It’s Doctor Li. Something’s wrong with the purifier,” Madison says into the static, desperate, holding off for another few moments - nothing. “ _Please_ \- someone answer.”

She can see the the other frequencies scuttling with activity, but she’s not concerned with state of affairs regarding the battle; casualties, tactics, morale. All her focus is concentrated solely on the purifier - that’s buckling under pressure. That threatens to implode and destroy all the years of research that went into it, and everyone inside.

No one comes to transmit, until -  
  
“Doctor Li? Is that you?” Comes a voice, unexpectant, though one she heard only hours earlier. Lyon’s daughter, Sarah -- sounding stained, winded. “How the -- _hell_ are we talking?”

“No time to explain,” Li responds, quick, “You have to listen to me, Sarah.”

“I’m all ears,” Lyons says back in a short breath, still strained over the intercom, voice distant as she speaks away from the intercom, “ _God_ \- Teresa - I just can’t believe - after all that. You just let the him _go_ \- ?”

“ _Listen_ ,” Madison cuts in, voice harsh and frustrated. “The two of you can bicker later. I've been monitoring the purifier’s systems remotely, and we have a serious problem.”

“Of _course_ we do,” Sarah says, quips, “And, frankly? I don’t consider matters concerning my security - and yours - _bickering_.”  

“ _Look_ \- there’s pressure building up in the purifier’s holding tanks,” Madison says, stern, words fast to get the information across, “It needs to be released _now_ , Sarah, or the damage will be catastrophic.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Sarah murmurs, jovial nature gone in an instant. Pauses, takes a deep breath. “Lemme guess. Tristan arm-twisted Rothchild to have you sit out of the operation, didn’t he? So we’ve only got an idea of the state of the Memorial’s systems just now.”

“So you can agree that the man’s a goddamn _idiot_ ,” Li says dryly.

“Great solider; shit strategist.” She replies. “So. I think I can comfortably that discern we’ve got a _huge_ fucking problem on our hands. What do we need to do, Doctor?”

Li considers. There’s the option to evacuate, technically -- but then that’s also the option to just sit by and lose everything she’s ever worked for, when they could - _she_ could - _try_ . Try and save the Memorial, all their work. Release all that pressure building to try and preserve what’s left of the Purifier. She can’t think of anything else but saving it, save what’s left of everything she worked on, everyone she’s worked with. Can’t let it go, can’t leave it all to waste. They’ve got enough time. If they work fast.  
  
“You need to turn the Purifier on.” Madison tells Lyons, voice somber but strained. “Do you hear me? It has to be turned on _now_ \-- you don’t have much time left.”

“But -- Doctor,” Sarah says, voice faltering as she tries to retain her composure, “going inside the chamber -- ”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Madison replies, and truly, she is. “But there’s just no time.”  
  
Line’s gone quiet. Sarah’s deliberating, but there’s no time left for that -- need to convince her to try and save the Purifier _now_ . There’s no use sugar-coating it. Best try it more direct. “The complex is huge, Sarah,” Madison explains, keeping her voice as measured as she can. “With that amount of pressure - the whole facility will _explode_.”

Sarah sighs long over the signal. “Alright,” she breathes, Li hears her pause. “101, we’ve got a job to do.”  

There’s talking, muffled sounds - raised, arguing - that simmer. Ease off, into a kind of too-quiet silence.  

“What have you decided?” Madison asks, “ _Hello--_?”

The signal cuts. The frequency dies, and she’s met with static.

Just endless static.  
  
Madison moves to the dail, brow drawn, searching for the signal, assumes it’s fuzzed out. She can patch it back.  
  
Moments pass. Seconds. Minutes.

Brings herself to stop trying to find the signal. The line’s dead. There’s no response, and it becomes clear that it's more than just lost, drowned and crackled in white noise. It’s gone. It must have blown out on their side. Blown out from damage.

She sits back in the office chair, and her body kind of slacks. Tense posture gone. Her sight slowly draws back to the terminal, and a blank screen meets her. No readings. No connections live.

It sets in, then.

She didn’t make it in time.

The Memorial is gone.

It’s a familiar feeling at first, a feeling of failure. She’s felt it numerous times before now; when a lab test goes wrong, when a theory proves incorrect. But then the feeling festers into something sharper -- deep and painful, like a knife plunged hard in her chest. She’s felt this before too, but much less often: after the project failed the first time. After losing Catherine. James. All the others. It pricks in her eyes, closes her throat.

Gone. All of them, gone. All for nothing.

A string of new data lines down the screen, and Madison watches idly. It’s consistent with a typical system reboot, all numbers nominal for the reading interface. Placeholder numbers until the real figures. Not that any will ever come through. Madison can’t bare to look at the screen anymore. Instead, she shuts her eyes, tries hard to tune out the static raging from the radio.

She nearly manages when the static ebbs off suddenly, but flares back stronger and louder. The change catches her attention.

“ _Lyon’s Pride!_ Lyon’s Pride, this is Tristan to Citadel,” comes a voice, crackled with static, words only just decipherable, “I _repeat_ \-- Tristan to Citadel, over, does anyone -- else copy?”

Slowly, Li leans forward to the radio, blinks back the stinging in her eyes, the blurs in her vision. She tunes radio with the dial, honing in on the signal. After a few moments the static dies down. She listens. Tristan becomes clearer.

“Paladin Tristan -- calling Citadel,” he repeats, voice noticeably strained. “Please respond.”

Part of her wants to speak to him, click down the mic and ask what’s happened. But she doesn’t need someone else to reiterate what she already knows, or have them bark down the comm line at her involvement. What she feels she’s caused. She holds off.

“This is Citadel base, Paladin Tristan,” another voice replies, one she recognises. Scribe Jameson. Coming through clearer. “Status on Purifier? Casualties?”  

“Yeah, Purifier is -- ” Tristan's words descend into raging indecipherable static, so Li quickly re-tunes the signal, patching back in, “-- I’m bringing in two casualties. Dropped a third at Rivet City. Get the med-bay ready. Clear _everyone_ else out.”

“ _More_?” Jameson asks, sounding stricken, but assumes her formality after a pause: “-- Copy, Paladin. Bring them in. Over.”  

Li’s losing the signal, but her thoughts are too involved to notice, too focused on the words they’ve said.  
  
“On my way,” Tristan says, voice crackling over the rising static. “We’re two clicks out. ETA unknown. Have some beds ready. Over and --”

Frequency cuts again. She doesn't notice. Still working over their words, processing them.  
  
It didn’t explode. The memorial isn’t gone.

It overloaded, again.

It overloaded, and the facility survived but --  they didn’t. Teresa and Sarah didn’t.

They’re bringing them in. They’ll be irritated, possibly burnt and - _barely_ alive.  If they even are alive.

And she could have told them to leave. She should have told them.

She’s got to get there.

She yanks the cord from socket, hard resets the terminal.

Moves to B-Ring.

 

* * *

 

Something’s changed. Streams of people pass through A-Ring, though now clusters of Scribes move past Li with increased alarm, not cool and calm as they were before. Talking. Whispers. Murmurs. Wonders what they're saying -- if they know her involvement. Can’t think about that now, can’t get caught up in it. Just need to follow what she heard on the frequency -- get to the Medbay. Tend to the casualties. Scribes thin in number as she nears the double-doors leading to B-Ring, but it’s not any quieter. It’s _louder_ \-- voices shouting, wailing. She pushes open the doors, and the sounds are no longer just sounds: they’re sights, smells - heavy scent of metal, mixed with dirt and blood; the aftershocks of the war, reverberating out in multitudes.  
  
Soldiers swarm in B-Ring like flies festered in on an open wound, the halls filled with stumbling, desperate casualties, brought in off the potomac. Blood pools on the tiled floors as she steps up the corridor toward the Medbay, armoured bodies sit back against the walls - their numbers much too many, the Medbay entirely overwhelmed. Some are crying out in pure unmedicated pain that sends them raging, others are quiet. Too quiet. Gone past the point of recovery. Sleepy, almost. Madison finds her sight set on one soldier in particular: young, dying; dark eyes looking at her, looking through her, looking both tired and resolute all at once.

Remembers Janice like that. Eyes locked on hers, blood soaked through the labcoat she always maintained, always kept clean, and she’s too quiet as she she tries to prop herself up from the Rotunda's metal grate.  Her eyes are bloodshot, brow furrowed, but it looks like she’s trying to smile as her breaths hitch, falter. Trying to tell Li not to worry, like she always did, that she’s going to be fine. Until she’s not, until Janice splutters blood on the grate, until life leaves her, eyes vacant.

Li snaps back to B-Ring when the soldier wails out, screaming, gripping tight on the injury coming from his thigh - all twisted metal jutting in and out with bone, streaming with blood. She looks away, continues up the hall - feels lightheaded, feels her head pounding - and hears the soldier’s cries diminish to a whimper.

Madison moves down the hall, pushing thoughts of Janice away, deep, deep down. Rounds to the beds in B-Ring, looks at the bodies inside. Hours ago it was just a mundane sleeping quarters for the Scribes - but now, it’s been fashioned into some kind of makeshift extension of the Medbay, adjacent of the room, beds layden with casualties. Standing at the doorframe, Madison searches the beds for James’ daughter - but all she sees are soldiers yet to be seen by medics, lying in blotchy, blood-soiled beds, bodies pale and drenched with sweat. Some have their armour peeled off, others have it twisted and punctured in their flesh. Sees their eyelids flicker, heads lulling; shaking and delirious from onset shock. Scribes sit close by their fellow wounded Paladins, offering what small assurances they can - a gentle press of the hand, calming words to their ear. Something to get them through, or at the very least, set them at rest; their breaths are laboured, unsteady. Li hears them struggling, even from the door.

They’re dying. It’s obvious, and that’s the hardest part - because it’s all too familiar to her, just _watching_ , being restricted and unable to help. But she keeps watching, wishing she could have given some peace to Janice the way they are. To Garza. Daniel. James.

Catherine.

Madison pulls herself away from observation, blinking, swallowing thickly. She looks back and scans the room again - James’ daughter’s not in there. Turns back to the original Medbay.  Must be in there. Li moves toward the room, taking a heavy breath, composing herself - _bracing_ for whatever the medics were treating inside.

It’s impossible to discern whether the girl is in there at first - Madison’s met with a sea of red, and a wall of noise: red from both the backs of the Scribes’ garb and from blood gleaming from tarnished armor; noise from voices, shuffling of feet. She pushes through the pair of Scribes huddled in the doorway, searching. Soon sees Scribes huddled around a gurney, the Brotherhood’s medical bot alongside them.

“Teresa?” Madison asks as approaches the Scribes, saying the girl’s name.

“Your girl’s back that way,” a Scribe quips, and Madison looks to the opposite side of the room.

A body, peeled of armor, laid out, cast aside. Something stills her. Seeps deep in her chest, sends shocks through her blood; she can’t comprehend the sight of it. Of seeing James’ daughter left abandoned and forgotten while they rush to eagerly treat Sarah. Anger soon spills into fury, into fear - makes Li she move fast to the gurney, look over Teresa and assess the damage. Reddish burns seared on her otherwise brown skin; skin’s paler than it should should be. Burns swelling, beginning to blister. Eyes closed.

“Teresa,” Madison murmurs, gently cups her face, careful to avoid burned skin, “Teresa,” she says again, “Can you hear me?”

She’s unresponsive. Stays just as she was; body limp, eyes shut, jaw slack. There’s no resistance as Li tries to move her, gets her head secure behind a pillow. There’s a pulse - a weak, slow, barely-there pulse as she presses on Teresa’s neck, but it’s far from assuring. Need more concrete readings, need to ensure she stays alive.

Li moves to the back of the Medbay quick, catching sight of an unused old-world ventilator unit. It’ll take vitals, readings, make her breathe - she shoves the clutter off the top of it, sees a Scribe jump at the clatter of clipboards and pencils at their feet, throws Madison a dirty look. Li bites back a response, instead pushes the rusted machine to Teresa’s gurney, begins to hook it up. Unwiring tubing, plugging it into a generator.

Catches Sawbones leave the presence of the other Scribes as she does, moving toward the medical store. She looks behind him - sees Sarah hooked up and stable, hears the steady beat of her vitals. In a flash second of impulse, Li moves and tries to get the robot’s attention.

“Look - listen to me, you _goddamn_ robot,” Li says, words harsh, “she requires _immediate_  medical attention. You’ve got to be fair here.”

“Negative,” Sawbones replies, floating back to Sarah’s gurney, “Civilian casualties are not within my jurisdiction.”  

“No, _no_ , that is _not_ what I meant,” Madison says as one of Sawbones’ eyes turn to face her, others preoccupied. “She’s… She’s not responding to me,” she tells him, seeing the flicker-squint of his retina, like confusion. “I keep telling you -- she’s not responding to anything that I'm trying --”

“Brotherhood behavior limiters prevent me from tending to the specified casualty at this time.” Sawbones says, their voice - although modulated - eliciting something similar to regret. “Please. Stand by.”

Madison turns back, takes a deep, long breath, hearing Sawbones return to Sarah, the clitter-clack of his rusted hull. Looks back over Teresa. Blinks, breathes, filtering through methods of treatment, tries to straighten out her thoughts. Medicine was never her strongest suit - she was adequate, competent but -

James always knew better.

She swallows heavy. Moves to the unit, plugs some tubing into a pulse cuff, wraps it around Teresa’s arm. Cuff presses, and Li realises the unit’s missing a mask to get the ventilator through to Teresa, make her breathe regular.

Luckily, through, the antiquated machine reads through Teresa’s pulse is stable enough, though judging by the girl’s state - she’s not going to last all that long without something to help her.

Li glances over her shoulder, looking back to the medical safe, and her eyes shut hard and jaw clenches tight as she sharply looks back. Breathes steady, focuses back on Teresa.

Soon though, a familiar presence lingers over her shoulder. Knows just who it is, just what he wants. Hears Rothchild begin to talk.

“Li, there’s something - ”

“No - I’m not helping you or Lyons with that - _goddamn_ robot,” Madison says, struggling to keep her composure. “I don't _care_ what's happened to it.”

Li checks over the dials for readings, needs to get some RadAway into Teresa’s system quick - likely the radiation’s still cooking inside her, frying her cells. Ties a pack to an the IV stand near her the gurney. Feels Rothchild lingering still. “I _have_ to stay here,” she says.

She glances over her shoulder again, but this time looking to the medical safe on the wall nearby, sees the door half open, needs to get supplies from inside.

As she walks, Rothchild tries, “I _must_ speak with you, Madison - ”

“ _I_ need to stabilize her.” She bites back, and feeling Rothchild’s sight on her as she steps past him to the safe - hastily grabbing vials of anti-rad agents, some surgical tubing, an oxygen mask.

Walking the short space back to the gurney, her sight sets on him, sees him looking absent. Preoccupied.

“Honestly?” She says, looking to him, packs of RadAway in tow. “Now you’re going to just stand here and watch like everyone else?”

Rothchild snaps his head up from his thinking, shakes his head. He moves over to her, quiet, unwinds the tubing she passes to him as she rounds the gurney, strapping the mask oxygen mask around the girl. Madison moves to plug the mask’s tubing into the ventilator and an opening on a nearby oxygen-tank. Sees Teresa’s vitals strengthen.

“The mask isn't going to to be enough, for the long-term,” Li says, “But your medic there refuses to help me until they’ve dealt with Lyon’s daughter first.”

“ _Sarah_?” Rothchild asks, voice giving away his disbelief.

Rothchild looks swift over his shoulder, over to the cluster of both Paladins and other Scribes and the Citadel's Gusty medic surrounding her.

Madison pauses. Looks at him, sees how he’s just like all the others - so surprised, so shocked. Can’t bare to watch him leave her for Sarah, just like all the other Scribes - so she quickly turns away, looks back back to James' daughter. Pulls a torch from her the pocket and lifts the girl's eyelid, seeing her eyes; one dark and unresponsive to the light, the other a cloudy, milky grey.

“Come _on_ ,” Madison urges, moving the torch from side to side, trying to get the girl's pupils to catch the light. “Respond to something, please,” she murmurs. Remains unresponsive.

“Sawbones will see James' daughter now,” Rothchild says, Madison turning to him. “Please, Madison. I must speak with you.”

“Pride’s new Knight, now is it--?”

“Teresa,” Madison says to the unit. “Her name is Teresa. Use it.”

Sawbones moves to the girl, begins hooking her up to RadAway - but Madison still finds herself agitated at Rothchild's presence.

Her eyes dart to him, waiting. “Well?”

“We’ll discuss this outside,” Rothchild says, motions to the door.

Something in his voice unnerves her.

Madison follows him out the Medbay, reluctant, briefly catching another glimpse of Teresa -- now finally getting the attention she needs, though she still feels uneasy leaving her. They move to a quieter part of B-Ring, where the sounds of wounded soldiers are somewhat distant, dulled. Though Rothchild seems to have no intent on stopping.

“This is as far as I’ll go.” Madison says, stopping them both. Looks to him, waits. “Now. What is it that you want?”

“You look like you need to take a breath, after all that,” Rothchild says, offering her an awkward, uneasy smile.

“I’m fine,” she says, her features remaining unchanged. She asks again: “So. What is it?”

“Well. While you may have done a hard reset on the Smithy’s terminal, Li,” Rothchild says, sighing, “you were in too much of a hurry to wipe the system, I presume?”

Oh.

 _That_ .

Madison remains composed. “Your point?”

“You bypassed the Enclave’s security measures for the mainframe,” Rothchild states.  
  
“I found a vulnerability,” she corrects. “I used it to try secure my project.”  
  
“And you couldn’t have passed it along?” He asks.  
  
“No, because it had to be me,” she says, voice direct and matter of fact. “I wrote that system. I knew what I was doing. You wouldn’t have.”

“You understand that you went against my prior concerns,” he says. “What I advised.”

“This the tough-guy talk again?” Madison quips, sees Rothchild restraining a response, so pushes further, “So what if I did? You and Lyons gonna give me a time out? Tristan gonna make me, too? Hm -- ?”

“You understand that our Paladins would have found a way to secure the Purifier without you _risking_ our complex for yours, Li,” Rothchild interrupts, voice sharp.  

“I _understand_ ,” she says, voice rising, “That the purifier's systems were quickly in decline from the damage it was sustaining, thanks in part to Lyon’s soldiers as much as the Enclave’s. And I can tell _you_ for a fact that this would have all ended up a hell of alot worse were it not for me doing what I did.”

“Hmph. Well.” Rothchild murmurs, says, “You’re going to need to tell me what happened on your end, then.”  
  
“I’ll get to the point,” She says. “I managed to get in through an override. Couldn’t correct all the issues the complex had sustained, so I patched through to the Rotunda, told the girls what they needed to do. Before I could verify the Purifier was no longer at risk, All the systems went dark. They shut off, and they - ” Her voice wavers unexpectedly, catches in her throat. “They… They didn’t follow my guidance adequately in time.”

Madison feels herself linger, quickly snaps back to her explanation:

“An input into the control panel triggered an overload. Which, with the discharge of radiation, caused...” Li looks past him, up to the Medbay. Thinks of Teresa inside. “And - the Memorial’s systems to remain unable to purify the basin. So it was all for nothing. That good enough of a debrief for you?”

“No, Madison,” Rothchild says, pausing, his tone is unexpectedly soft. Gentle. “That doesn’t cooberate with what I’ve seen,” he continues. “Something very different has happened.”

Her attention draws back up to him.

“What?”

“The Purifier was activated, not overloaded, like before,” Rothchild says. “The Purifier is fully operational.”

Madison looks away, feels the slightest change in her features, feels… something.

“That...” She just manages, voice quiet, “changes things.”

Though she doesn’t have time to linger heavy on the information, because she sees Lyons down the hall, sees him flanked by Cross and Tristan, and moves past Rothchild, walking back to the Medbay. Some part of her doesn’t want to think of it. Can’t comprehend.

“Madison -- ?” Rothchild asks.

“I’ve got a thing or two to say to them,” she explains, walking down the hall.

“So,” Madison calls, catching their attention, closing the distance. “Tell me. Who’s bright idea was to coerce Rothchild into locking me into a glorified store cupboard?”  

“Please, Doctor, exercise some discretion.” Star Paladin Cross says, voice too-calm and measured. “The Elder has just received some terrible news.”

Madison looks at her plainly. “Then he needs to thicken his skin, because Sarah’s condition is favourable compared to the other possible outcomes.”  

Lyons’s moved to the inside of the Medbay, likely to Sarah. Li knows he’s in ear shot.

“Your antagonist attitude does little to help anyone here,” Cross retorts, voice raised, stern and combative, “Maybe if _you_ were in there, seeing your daughter in comatose - ”

“If _I_ was in there?” Madison scoffs. “If I was in there, I’d tell her that her Lyon’s choices jeopardised this _whole_ mission - yours and mine,” She says, “and that her - along with a good number of others - would be have been dead if I wasn’t here to disobey him.”

“You’re sharper than I'd expected, Madison,” Tristan says. “Guess the last twenty years really squeezed every drop of compassion out of you.”

Madison turns to him. He’s kept his eyes on her the whole time - knew he was building up to something eventually. She’s silent, sight on him blankly. Sees the dirt and blood tarnishing his armor, scorch marks burnt onto his chestplate, breaking the Brotherhood’s emblem.

“But I see now that you're very much ready to continue to with the project,” he continues, feigning friendliness. “I’ll inform the Elder. I suggest you go rest now. We'll handle the rest.”

“And if I do?” Madison responds. “How do I know I’m not gonna be locked in again? With a harder lock this time?”

Sees Tristan move closer, tough-guy quiet again. A threat, intimidation.

Scoffs at him. “I’ll go.” She says. “ _Gladly_ .”

* * *

 

Silence lingers through the Citadel’s halls as she treads through. The quiet starts her thinking, begins to pick apart what Rothchild said. That the Purifier _works_. Fresh water is - finally a reality. Thinks of what all that water will do for the Wasteland - thinks of how it’ll help in Rivet City, for all the hydroponic gardens there, be able to formulate new strains of healthy foodstuffs for everyone, thinks of how it’ll change the wasteland for the better, thinks -

Janice won’t be there to do it with her.

She keeps moving through the halls. Doesn't go to the little box room she's been given—instead heads to the mess hall. Needs to sit somewhere. Work over all this. Finds it empty, as expected with half their usual clientele bleeding or dead someplace.

Sits inside a frayed diner booth, leans her head back against the tattered fabric, feels lumpy springs press into her spine. Eyes close. Hard to process what she’s feeling. It’s… anticipation. For what the water will mean for people’s lives. Fear at the Enclave for the same reason. Somewhere deep in there, there’s guilt. That she couldn’t save the people she cared the most for, that she never could.

Then it’s longing, still, even with it done.

“So,” comes a voice, snapping her from her thinking. A Scribe shuffles into the booth, sits across from her. He’s almost a sickly kind of pale, dark circles under his eyes. Gaunt cheeks. Slides her a cup of coffee.

“I hear it’s you we’ve got to be thankful for saving our asses. Again.” He says, taking a sip of his own.

“And you are?”

“I’m Bigsley,” he explains, setting the cup down. Threads his fingers together, sits forward slightly. “I’m like you, I’ve got ideas. Difference is that they just don’t listen.” He chuckles to himself, muttering, “Maybe with the purifier working you can finally let me get some of the limelight, eh?”

Tunes out what he’s saying almost immediately. Feels a rush of what this moment _could_ have been - not sitting in this stupid booth, across from some two-bit egotistical idiot. Thinks of finally having Project Purity finished, complete, having someone to celebrate it with, to not have all of them gone so it would come to fruition.

“I mean, Mads - can I call you that? Mads?” He says, “I can give you a little slice, a footnote on all my achievements,”

 _God_ , the number of times she worked it over in her head, pictured this moment, _dreamt_ of it - an eruption of giddy, other worldly celebration as the Purifier reads green. James’ hearty triumphant laugh reverberating inside the Rotunda, Catherine’s wide, bright smile, one that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Hugs. Elation, singing and cheering and celebration-- for the _right_ reasons. Not for the bloodlust of war. For progress, revival. Purity.

“I’d like to be alone,” Madison murmurs.

“Hmph. Suit yourself,” Bigsley says, sliding out of the booth. Hears his steps, then hears him stop. Her sight drags to him. Sees him turn, and he quips; “‘Grats, by the way. On the whole Prime - Purifier double whammy. Sure scared off the Enclave, I hear. Made you helluva lot more important here.”

She stays quiet.

“It’s a big damn thing you pulled off,” he continues, chuckles again, “and I think they’re already starting the party, with what folk aren’t, y’know, dismembered and stuff. Lots of toasts to you.”

Scoffs at the last part. Biggest load of _bull_ she’s heard for a long time. Infers that she means something to these people here. That they see her as something beyond an asset to be used and pushed aside when it suits them. So she doesn’t leave the mess hall. Doesn’t take Bigsley’s coffee. Doesn’t do anything.

Instead, she sits. Back pressed against the wall, facing forward. Feels an unease in her position, an anticipation.

Wants to know what’s coming.


End file.
